


The Myth that is My Life

by amazingpages



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Blind Date, Blogging, Diary/Journal, Football Mishaps, Humor, M/M, Merlin monologuing, Nerdiness, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingpages/pseuds/amazingpages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ON HIATUS]</p><p>Merlin Emrys. Twenty-three. Grad student. List maker. History fanatic. Museum archives employee.</p><p>This is my word vomit.<br/>It can be a bit of a mess.</p><p> </p><p>Or, when Merlin attempted to blog about his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm in trouble. And drooling.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this has escalated into far more than I ever expected it to! It all started with a conversation with a friend, wherein I thought it would be fun to write a Merlin AU as it was happening, sort of Merlin's blog diary, if you will. I began this on tumblr, as that seemed like a fun place for Merlin to spill his feelings.
> 
> This fanfic has since taken on a life of its own, it seems. I've received a number of requests asking that I post this on AO3, so here it is. If you'd like to see the tumblr version, you can view it here: http://merlinsmyths.tumblr.com/ (I will still continue to update there as well). But this should make for easier reading for some of you. :)
> 
> This is definitely a WIP, and I currently don't have an idea of where it might end, hence the question mark. I'm making each blog entry a separate chapter. Rating is T for now, but I may up it for later chapters, if necessary. Anyways, enough talking. I'll let Merlin take over the rambling for now. Enjoy! :)

Okay.

 

I met this guy last night.

 

By _met_ , I obviously mean he-caught-my-attention-so-I-stalked-him-on-my-lunchbreak-today. I mean, since when have I had the bollocks to actually approach a fit bloke without any prompting whatsoever? …Well, there was that time with Will. But, no! Not the point!

 

Anyway, _fuck_. When I say he was fit, I’m talking _bloody fit_. It’s not like me, walking around a bit on the job and being in proper shape. He obviously does some serious athletics to get an arse like that.

 

BUT. (There’s always a but isn’t there?) His body isn’t even what drew me in at first. I realize that I can be a little — okay, _a lot_ — superficial sometimes, _but_ that wasn’t the case here. It was his voice. The chap rang in fucking _ten minutes_ before closing, and I was already pretty knackered and wanted to just get home, only he sounded rather desperate and who am I to turn away a man in need, especially one with such a lovely, posh voice? He asked if I could please, _please_ keep museum archives open a bit longer as he was running late and needed to check out a reference. And I honestly would have said yes to anything if he kept begging me with that deep, persuasive, totally entrancing voice.

 

So I waited around.

 

I wasn’t expecting to be utterly gobsmacked by the sight of him walking through the door. (This is where my superficiality cannot be denied.) Of course, being the absolute creep Gwen always accuses me of being, I used that new app I downloaded last week — the one where it looks like you’re talking on your mobile, only you’re really snapping away pictures on it? That one. And I totally snuck a photo, only I forgot to turn the sound off on my mobile, so he might have noticed, but he didn’t say anything of it. Maybe he was oblivious. Or maybe he let me off the hook for staying open so late.

 

Either way, prepare yourselves because he is bloody _delicious_ :

 

 

In hindsight, I suppose it wasn’t smart to take a picture so close. It’s just that I _had_ to pretend I was busy speaking with my boss so he wouldn’t notice my gob hanging open and dragging along the floor as he walked in and then I remembered the picture app and…yeah.

 

No shame.

 

So, in the future, I plan to:

 

  * get a life
  * ask Gaius for longer lunch breaks
  * stalk Arthur (That’s his name, did I mention that? _Arthur_.)
  * shave more than once a fortnight so I don’t look like a homeless creep at work



**#bloody fuck  #can i get a bucket for this drool?  #GUH  #so hot  #work is gonna be hell tomorrow**


	2. Knight in shining armour.

On my lunch break.

 

Arthur came in again first thing this morning. I almost asked him if he was following my schedule, but I figured that might be a tad cheeky since we haven’t even properly met yet. Also: creepy.

 

I mean, we’ve met, of course. Except I only know his name from the updated file card he handed me last night allowing him to handle rare texts. Even in _my_ books that doesn’t exactly count for an introduction.

 

He’s been here all morning, so while there’s been no true introduction, there’s been plenty of observation. All one-sided, yet all in the name of education, of course! I’ve been trying to decipher what exactly he’s studying for. I’ve narrowed it down to either thesis work or a secret alter ego as a knight. Both possibilities are still very much in the running. Records he’s pulled so far:

 

  * Renaissance monarch genealogies
  * Song of Roland commentary
  * Chivalric histories
  * Some Latin law book I couldn’t focus on because his hand brushed mine when he checked it out



 

I’ve never seen him here before yesterday, but that could be attributed to my fluctuating schedule. Quite the tragedy really, because the afternoon light works miracles on that blond fringe hiding his eyes at the moment.

 

Oh, shite, those eyes just looked up. He might have just caught me staring.

 

Strike that. He _definitely_ just caught me staring.

 

Fuck.

 

Now he’s getting up. Wait, no, he’s walking over here!

 

Whatdoidoohnoican’thandlethisokaybreathefinishthislaterbye!

 

  

**#hot knights  #is he really reading latin?  #stalking  #shameless staring**


	3. My namby pamby heart.

It’s official. I’m a coward.

 

For all that I can’t keep my mouth shut most of the time, I was at a complete loss for words when Arthur approached the front desk earlier. I’m pretty sure I muttered out some poor excuse about being on break and shoved Gwen at him.

 

Which was a bloody mistake in its own right, since Gwen’s usually amusing chatter has now morphed into calling me a big girl’s blouse every five minutes. Of course, I had to explain to her that I didn’t really know the bloke at all, but she seems to think that means I have no reason to be avoiding him.

 

She may have a point.

 

It’s a good thing I have tomorrow off for coursework, so I don’t have to see either of them. Not that it’s guaranteed Arthur would even be here tomorrow. I mean, he could be. But he might not. I don’t even know why I care. He’s practically a stranger and yet I’ve spent the entire day mooning over him. Normally I wouldn’t even give the time of day to a posh git like him, so I don’t know why he’s caught my attention…

 

Gwen’s giving me a look because I still haven’t re-shelved the microfiche records Arthur pulled out an hour ago. Bloody Arthur. I can’t wait for end of shift. A day outside of this dungeon may be exactly what I need.

 

**NOTE TO SELF:**

The best looking blokes are always the messiest. Find one who:

 

  * ~~isn’t as lazy as you are~~ CLEANS
  * knows history (or can hold an intelligent conversation)
  * doesn’t cheat (remember the Cenred fiasco?)
  * asks you out first (it helps when he fancies you back, fyi)



 

I don’t know when this post became a self-help pity party, but I’m cutting it off now just the same.

 

 

**#did i mention gwen’s mean streak?  #FINALLY a day off tomorrow  #forever alone  #i’m a pansy**


	4. Forever and a day.

Sometimes, all you need is a little perspective.

 

I met up with Gwen earlier after she finished at work (she’s too sweet to hold a grudge against anyway) and she thought it would be a great idea to give me a bleeding _heart attack_. **Spoiler alert: BIG NEWS AHEAD**.

 

 

 

 

I will neither confirm nor deny who squealed the loudest between us. Suffice to say, I was _thrilled_ for her. Absolutely chuffed to bits! Lance gave her his grandmother’s ring and everything…it was as close to a fairytale as I’ve ever seen. Then again, those two could make Hallmark cards based on their relationship—it’s just that perfect.

 

Thing is, spending the past few hours with Gwen discussing wedding ideas and other lovey-dovey nonsense, I couldn’t help but wonder about _my_ happily ever after. I know I’m never going to find a guy like Lance (hell, I’m not even sure I could handle someone that _nice_ all the time), but it’d be great if at least _one_ of my relationships lasted longer than a few months.

 

One night stands are brilliant (let’s be honest: they’re fucking hot), but waking up alone? Sure makes my future look pretty damn bleak. I’m not expecting a fiancée like Gwen’s or anything…all this talk of forever just has me wanting a little commitment, that’s all.

 

Gwen’s always telling me I’m not going to find a keeper if I keep playing the single’s game. I used to brush her off. I’m not even sure what the ‘the single’s game’ actually _is_ , but maybe she’s right. It makes sense that I can’t expect commitment if I’m not willing to give it. And I think I’m willing to give it a go now, see where that takes me. Not to mention, I’ll never hear the end of it if I go stag to Gwen’s wedding.

 

Okay, so…goals:

 

  * no more fuck buddies (booty calls = no respect)
  * hang out in more respectable establishments (this _does not_ include The Rising Sun)
  * get a boyfriend by Gwen’s wedding (preferably one who won’t take the piss out of me for my bow ties)
  * _shave my fucking face_ (see: a work in progress)



 

Her wedding’s not for six months. That’s plenty of time to find a guy…right?

 

 

**#checking out the talent  #future thoughts  #happily ever after alert  #MARRIAGE OMG**


	5. Piss drunk and reading minds.

Operation: Find A Boyfriend…has not yet commenced.

 

Rather than doing anything useful on a Saturday night, everyone decided it would be a brilliant idea to get completely smashed in celebration of Gwen and Lance’s engagement. And when I say everyone…I really just mean Gwaine. The bastard has a liver of steel, yet somehow he manages to convince us to join him in drinking games. Every. Single. Time.

 

I don’t know how I survived my adolescence with him around.

 

This morning when I woke up, there were a number of people passed out on my living room floor, only a few of which I actually knew. A couple were friends from work, and then some of Lance’s mates showed up over the course of the night as well. Gwen and her good friend Morgana were the only two not utterly sloshed, which was probably why I found them up at arse-o’clock in the morning gossiping over cups of my (admittedly) overpriced tea.

 

Although I’ve only ever hung out with Morgana a handful of times over the years, I think it’s safe to say she is one of the scariest people I’ve ever known. Well, aside from her flatmate, Morgause—who, I’m convinced, is the devil incarnate. It’s not that I’m intimidated by loud, brazen women (I really am). Morgana just has a way of looking at you and making it seem like she’s reading every thought in your head. So when I entered my kitchen with the hangover from hell, I had no shame in avoiding eye contact entirely. Not that it mattered, since the ensuing silence obviously meant they’d been talking about me before I walked in.

 

All of this to say: never trust a scheming woman. They were very obviously up to something, though I’d never venture to guess what. From past experience, a few probable ideas:

 

  * setting me up on a blind date (all of which have crashed and burned miserably)
  * planning my birthday party (I hate celebrating birthdays, they _know_ that)
  * …if it’s anything other than those two then I’m definitely fucked



 

Best wishes to Gwen & Lance!

Love,

your shitfaced mates

 

 

**#alcohooooool  #gwen’s really engaged  #and morgana’s psycho  #i meant psychic but that’s probably a purposeful typo from my subconscious**


	6. Death by football.

Gwaine is a bloody tosser.

 

Ever since Gwaine and I became mates (when he stopped Alator West from shoving my face into the bins back in primary) we’ve been pretty inseparable. I’ve been the voice of reason—mostly—and Gwaine’s been the risk-taker. And every year since we were fourteen (the year of The Firecracker Incident) we have taken turns choosing something new for the other to “learn.”

 

I may not be the crazy arse that Gwaine is but, as mum says, I’ve got plenty of curiosity that could use channeling. So we took it upon ourselves to basically spend every year taking the piss out of each other while one of us tries to do something we’re absolute rubbish at. Whenever Gwaine’s turn arrives, his first suggestion is always for me to learn footie, and each time I turn him down. Until now.

 

I’ve told him it doesn’t count if he asks me when I’m sloshed and beyond basic mental processes, but the sneaky bastard managed to record me saying I’d do it or die trying (clearly I’m an idealistic drunk) among other confessions that will remain unmentioned.

 

Reasons to refuse to learn:

  * I was drunk when I agreed to do it
  * I’m shite at anything to do with coordinated movement
  * I’ve managed to turn him down for five years running (for good reason)
  * He’ll bust my arse making me learn because he’s brilliant at it



 

Reasons to just get it over with:

  * He will hold everything else I said on that recording over my head for the next decade if I don’t



 

…I guess I’m playing footie. This is going to be a long season.

 

A reminder of the good times, for when I feel like quitting:

 

 

 

**#drunk confessions are evil  #footie  #gwaine the arsehole  #i’m writing my will now**


	7. I must not murder Gwaine.

I can’t _move_. Fuuuuuuuuuck.

 

If I knew what Gwaine had in store for me when he mentioned a “light bit of fun” today, I would have avoided him for the next year. Granted, I’m not exactly in shape, but this was bloody _torture_. Despite knowing full well that I don’t exercise beyond walking to the off-license a few blocks away, Gwaine put me through the ringer today. I’ve never run so much in my life unless I was being chased. To be fair, I had a crazy-arsed footie fanatic chasing my tail most of the afternoon, but we’re mates! That clearly counts for nothing in his books.

 

Things that hurt:

  * my feet
  * my legs (my poor sodding _legs_ )
  * my knees
  * my arse (I wish it were as kinky as it sounded)
  * other muscles I was unaware of before yesterday



 

Gwaine calls it strength training, but I’m pretty sure leading a workout of that intensity warrants at least a degree in something other than women’s studies. The bloody wanker. I hope he doesn’t get laid for a fortnight.

 

In other news, Gwen and Morgana’s plotting has culminated in a blind date setup. I’m not sure I have the strength to turn them down in my current condition. I really don’t think I have the strength to do anything beyond eating the leftover cake from Gwen and Lance’s party. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.

 

Also, whoever said ice baths were soothing was a sodding liar.

 

 

**#never again  #paracetamol get in my mouth  #post-traumatic flashbacks are happening  #running = death**


	8. It's not entirely about Arthur...

I’ve been so busy with coursework and my shifts at the archives—not to mention Gwaine’s whingeing about when I’ll come back for more footie practice (the answer is never)—that I’ve hardly had a chance to wonder where Arthur’s been the past few days. I’d just resigned myself to never seeing him again after a convincing internal argument about whether his visits were a one-time deal. So imagine my surprise when he comes strolling in this morning (though it was more of a strut than anything) to pick up some volumes he’d apparently requested, looking like a bloody model despite the fact he’d clearly just finished a run…or something. My mind is wandering into the dirtier realms, because I can think of more than one way to get _that_ sweaty.

 

In any case, it reminded me that while I took a picture of him before, I never really described Arthur. The picture doesn’t do him justice. And that might just be a crime against humanity, because he’s so gorgeous it makes my teeth ache. Take today, for instance: he was drenched in sweat, smelling like death warmed over, yet I swear his presence alone made my drool start pooling.

 

At least Gwen has admitted it’s unfair how good he looks, or I’d think I was going mad. Not that I haven’t had ridiculously superficial crushes before, but this one takes the biscuit.

 

Arthur:

  * is fit and stocky in exactly the right away
  * gives crooked, loveable smiles
  * looks confident in everything he does
  * has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen
  * even makes _sweat_ look good



 

I could go on, but… Whatever. Arthur can look as kissable as he wants but nobody _that_ wonderful on the outside could be as amazing on the inside. Although I’m sure Gwen would disagree, for Lance’s sake. And, even if he were somehow the perfect man, he’d never be interested in me, the history geek with nothing going for him but a lifetime of debt from university and who’s had the same wardrobe since secondary.

 

I need to stop crushing on this ( _fucking hot_ ) stranger and work on finding that elusive boyfriend for Gwen’s wedding.

 

Who knows? Maybe Arthur has a geeky twin out there that is just my type. Morgana already texted me yesterday—how she got my number in the first place, I don’t even _want_ to know—about that blind date she is keen to set me up on. I’ll probably wind up saying yes now, for lack of any better options.

 

But if this one shows up wearing _spandex_ again, I’m so completely out.

 

 

**#the gods of sweat have spoken  #blind date fiascos  #hothothot  #rethinking my options**


	9. Unspoken rules are law!

I’m so behind on my thesis. I should just give up right now. _Why_ did I feel the need to go for another degree? My life would be perfectly wonderful without a few extra letters behind my name. Really, the only slight upside to this day is that I had an almost conversation with Arthur, the object of my unrequited lust. And the fact that this train wreck of a conversation is the upside is saying a lot.

 

I was in the archives (actually _using_ them for once, rather than working) and he just _sat down_ at my table. I mean, I’m no expert, but there is serious table etiquette in this kind of place and it involves _finding your own damn table_. So I might have muttered a very welcoming “fuck off” before looking up and seeing who it was…

 

My brain and my mouth aren’t exactly on speaking terms (see what I did there?).

 

Anyway, I’m over there having a midlife crisis over my stupidity while he just raises one of those perfectly arched eyebrows and smirks at me, then goes back to his book, happy as you please. He was _smirking_. As though I was a little child! Meanwhile, I’m freaking out over pissing him off (which was obviously not the issue _at all_ ). Of course, I couldn’t learn my lesson the first time and my mouth just had to open again…

 

"You think that’s funny? I was here first." That’s not a paraphrase. I really said that. And then I wanted to die.

 

He just gave me this look, it was almost… _exasperated_. And then he me asked how old I was. The question was rather out of the blue, before I realized it was a rhetorical question that was phrased more like ‘how old _are_ you?’

 

I was not in the mood after the day I’d had. I ~~might have~~ called him a few choice names before getting up to leave. And all of a sudden he’s laughing like the arse he is and holding out his arms in jest, telling me not to run away.

 

Just because I moved to a table on the other side of the hall does _not_ mean I was running away.

 

It _doesn’t_.

 

And, for the record, he isn’t half as good looking once he opens his mouth.

 

 

 

**#prat training at table one  #what an arse  #the hot ones always are  #WHY do i still like him?**


	10. Merciful Percival.

It turns out Gwaine’s resolve is far stronger than my own. I am beyond tired of hearing him complain about me reneging on our deal, while he is far from hating the sound of his own voice. And even though I’ll never admit it, this time wasn’t half as bad as my first attempt. Rather than having me run drills ( _endless_ drills) in an attempt to teach me how to play football, he brought his friend Percival to help out.

 

This bloke is a riot. I’m not sure how we haven’t met before now. Apparently he’s in the same league as Gwaine, so they play a pick-up game every now and then. But he really was a genuinely nice person—far nicer than most of the people I meet through Gwaine, at least. And praise whoever was answering prayers today because not only is Percival fighting fit, he’s also a hell of a teacher.

 

Let me provide a few examples. Whenever I was having trouble with learning something:

  * Gwaine yelled. Percival explained.
  * Gwaine stomped around. Percival demonstrated.
  * Gwaine pulled at his hair. Percival laughed.
  * Gwaine punched my arm. Percival gave me a high five.



 

Really, it’s as though Gwaine was my annoying little cousin and Percival was the cool uncle I never had. I suppose the fact that I’m now able to kick the ball in the general vicinity of the goal can be attributed to Percival’s good teaching. Of course, Gwaine got over himself after about five minutes and we all went out to the pub to celebrate my ability to connect basic motor functions.

 

During which time I came to the realization that I was being _utterly used_ by my best mate to go on the pull. He’d clearly only invited me along to be somewhat civilized—shocking, really. I was both a wing man and a third wheel, as I witnessed Gwaine blatantly flirting with and otherwise schmoozing Percival. So, after kicking the bloody sod in the shin a good ten times, I left him to his business and walked home instead.

 

A hot shower is better than watching Gwaine show off any day.

 

I’d ask Gwaine for pointers on picking up a bloke, but I’m afraid of what might come of it. Better not to risk that brand of humiliation. Besides, maybe this date I’ve got coming up will be the lucky one.

 

_Right_.

 

 

**#all my mates ditch me  #learning football and feeling fabulous  #gwaine owes me a pull**


	11. Morgana - a fate worse than death.

These past few days have been boring as fuck.

 

Aside from the usual torture of work and revision for my exams, I’ve had literally nothing to do. While I know I’m prone to exaggeration (hyperbole might as well be my second language), I’m being quite serious. Some moment when I wasn’t looking, all my good mates went and paired off with someone, leaving me to wallow in the boring hell that constitutes my life.

 

This meant that I was actually looking forward to my blind date last night, since it would be the only true interaction I’d have had for the better part of this week—Gaius doesn’t count because his idea of a social life is conversing with long-dead authors while he re-shelves them.

 

I even got dressed up for the occasion:

  * my blue jeans weren’t ripped
  * my t-shirt wasn’t wrinkled
  * my underwear wasn’t a day old



 

I mean, that’s quite an accomplishment. I was rather proud of how presentable I’d taken the trouble to be. So, of _course_ , there would be nobody there to see all of the pathetic effort I put into my crap social life. Ask me why.

 

_Because the bloody prick stood me up._

Who gets passed up on a blind date? I mean, really? Merlin Emrys does! The git probably walked in, took one look at me (sitting with my preplanned chequered muffler around my neck) and walked straight back out. But I sat there like a bleeding idiot for the better part of two hours before I took a hint and got sloshed instead.

 

You can imagine why I might have ignored Morgana’s texts after that (it _was_ partly her fault, after all). Which might explain why she chose to corner me in the archives today and altogether scare the shite out of me. They say that your life flashes before your eyes in near-death situations, but that’s not true. You just see your fear reflected back to you in your attacker’s cold, lifeless eyes. (See? My exaggeration is well intact.)

 

While I was attempting to put my pounding heart back inside my chest cavity, Morgana was pleading a sob story for my useless date, saying something had come up. I honestly would have written it off had it been anyone else, but Morgana doesn’t make excuses. She’s the most stringent person I know. And the most frightening, so that probably explains why I agreed to reschedule my date before she decided to suck out my blood or something equally horrifying.

 

More on this later. I’m still rather traumatized by Morgana showing something resembling true emotions.

 

 

**#morgana’s a vampire  #blind date track record got worse  #how is that even possible?  #dating is turning me into an alcoholic**


	12. Arthur could be my time-travelling companion!

Well, I left work early today because there was nothing to do—I’d already wasted the last hour in the archives on Netflix, sobbing over a distressing episode of Doctor Who, so I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind for work anyway—and while I’m walking through the car park wiping my tears away (while also trying to chase down what was left of my masculinity) I ran into Arthur of all people. Well, _he_ actually ran into _me_ —practically clotheslined me, the sod—but all of a sudden he was hovering like a mother hen, clearly thinking he was the reason I’d been crying.

 

Yeah, _right_.

 

Of course, I had to tell him that no man was worth my tears, unless he happened to be a time-travelling doctor, to which Arthur promptly replied, “That is utterly childish.”

 

Which maybe spawned an argument over who the best male characters were in television. He was defending bloody Giles from _Buffy_ , so there’s definitely no accounting for taste these days.

 

And, well, okay, his point might have had _some_ validity since we managed to argue rather heatedly about it for almost twenty minutes, but that was before the skies opened up and it began to pour, effectively ending the debate. That was the point where scenes from _The Notebook_ began to flash before my eyes as I imagined what kissing Arthur in the rain might be like, even though he could probably never pull off a beard the way Ryan Gosling can (let’s be honest here).

 

But staring off into the distance while a thunderstorm is brewing actually looks more like _raging lunacy_ to normal human beings like Arthur, apparently. It would at least explain why he was looking at me rather strange and calling my name (I didn’t even know he _knew_ my name). And that sudden jolt back into reality might have been why we suddenly made a collective decision and dashed over to my car while I fumbled for my keys and made a fool out of myself.

 

All in all it was par for the course, until we actually got to the main event, which involved a sopping wet Arthur sitting in my car with me, both of us breathing heavily for all the wrong reasons.

 

I cannot properly express the numerous opportunities I wasted within the next ten minutes while waiting for the rain to stop.

 

There were a series of silent, awkward glances exchanged, and I could literally feel my common sense leaking out of my ears. Then Arthur jumped suddenly, dug into his pocket, and held up my sonic screwdriver replica and told me I’d dropped it when he ran into me before.

 

I immediately grabbed it and brandished it like a sword, doing what I do best, which amounts to being silly in an attempt to quell my embarrassment. All it prompted was an eye-roll from Arthur, followed by him snatching it from my hand and telling me to “put down the sonic, Merlin, you look ridiculous.”

 

My reaction was more of a splutter of surprise that he even knew the name of the device since he’d previously pretended to know next to nothing about the series, but Arthur was already getting out of the car as the rain had finally stopped.

 

Once out, he leaned back in to say, “ _Honestly_ , Merlin, Eccleston, really? Everyone knows Tennant was the best doctor.”

 

Then he strolled away, not bothered in the least that his clothes were still plastered to him or that he’d left me a soppy, girly mess. And just when I’d decided I wouldn’t fancy him anymore, _damn it all_.

  

 

**#i’m so gone   #doctor who bonding   #if you can call that bonding   #fuck it    #it’s my fantasy we can bond if i want to**


	13. Morgana has some explaining to do...

My track record with blind dates has been pretty horrible, and I have always been able to attribute that to the absolutely atrocious blokes Morgana finds to set me up with. Sometimes I wonder if that is how she has her fun. I don’t know where she digs them up, but they’re always the worst of the worst.

 

There was Valiant, the creepy bloke who had three pet snakes hidden in his jacket and fed them “dinner” once we were served at the restaurant. Then came Odin with his baby talk, who treated me like a long-lost son, force fed me food from our joint plate, and had a large pacifier waiting for me when I returned from the loo. And, oh, I could never forget Jesse (who preferred to be called ‘Trickler’) because he thought that showing off his magic tricks by making all of his clothes disappear in the restaurant was a suitable come-on. 

 

Needless to say, I’ve had more than enough crap blind dates. I told Morgana as much today, since she had rescheduled my blind date for tonight. Yet somehow, between Morgana’s manipulation and Gwen’s pleading looks, I wound up tricked into going on one more.

 

This bloke already had a strike against him for standing me up last time, so I wasn’t particularly thrilled to find myself waiting at an Italian restaurant that leaned more towards ‘cheesy’ than ‘romantic’. That is, until the bloke who sat down before me was none other than _Arthur Pendragon_ himself.

 

I’ll admit, for the first ten minutes or so, I thought it was all some elaborate joke. Gwen knew of my insane crush on him (which obviously meant that Morgana was well aware of it also, the two of them are practically tied at the hip), so I thought perhaps I had done something to warrant revenge in the form of blind date humiliation. It wasn’t until I noticed Arthur’s increasingly awkward blushing that I realized he was just as surprised as I was to be sitting there with me. I made a mental note to interrogate Morgana about how she knew Arthur and _completely failed to mention it to me_. After that I took pity on him and tried to reign in both my nerves and my staring because, _yeah_ , I’d dreamt of going on dates with him (and quite a bit more) but I’d never thought any of it would _actually_ happen! Also, he was looking incredibly fit with his dark red shirt and tousled hair.

 

Of course, the entire night proceeded to fall apart from that point on. I wasn’t really in the mood for fake Italian food, so I ordered the only other thing on the menu, a burger. Of course, Arthur was appalled and we argued over if I should even be allowed to order anything but pasta at an Italian restaurant, whether it was on the menu or not. That wasn’t all that bad, as arguing with Arthur was rather familiar territory, but what _was_ bad was when I accidentally set my cloth napkin on top of the little tea light on our table and it caught fire. To make matters worse, the fire somehow became acquainted with the excessive grease dripping from my burger and the flame blew up into something a lot more menacing.

 

At this point I was ~~freaking out~~ flailing a little, and Arthur thought that tossing the entire contents of his glass all over me and the table would solve the problem. It did, at that, though I was soaked and we were then charged 30% gratuity for the scorched tablecloth and subsequently kicked out of the restaurant without having eaten anything.

 

“Look on the bright side,” I told him as we stood around outside, “you’ve still got me!”

 

Arthur took all of this in stride though, rolling his eyes and telling me to follow him because he knew a good place nearby. “Nearby” is really a relative term, let me tell you.

 

“You don’t know where we’re going,” I complained, after we walked for fifteen minutes and still hadn’t stopped anywhere.

 

Arthur responded with, “No, Merlin, _I know_ where we’re going, I’m just not telling you, that’s all,” but he was clearly lying.

 

“Right, ‘cause if you do you’ll have to kill me, I suppose.” I might have been watching a little too much James Bond on Netflix this week, alright?

 

But maybe Arthur had been, too, because he looked over rather seriously and said, “Immediately and without hesitation.”

 

It was actually kind of hot, the way his eyes narrowed playfully and he looked me up and down as though assessing how easily he could take me. And then he pulled me into a creepy alleyway, which was rather frightening after his admission of being willing to _murder me_ , but it was actually just where this hidden ice cream shop was located. The shop was owned by this lovely girl named Freya who served me the best ice cream I have ever had. Really, I would have lit the entire Italian restaurant on fire just so Arthur would show me how to get back there. It was a lovely surprise.

 

Certainly one of the better blind dates I’ve ever had, if not _the best_ , even despite the fact that it ended a bit suddenly when Arthur mentioned having to be up early the next morning and we parted ways. I wound up staying there longer for more ice cream and getting to know Freya, who was the sweetest person I’d ever met, aside from Gwen.

 

All in all, I’d say I completely ruined any possible chance of Arthur being even remotely interested in me romantically, but at least I have enough images of him licking a spoon in very pornographic ways to give me a few new fantasies.

 

 

**#it’s getting hot in here   #not in a good way   #i set fiiiiire to my plaaaaate   #maybe arthur won’t mention that to anyone?**


	14. Avoiding Arthur like the plague...

The five days I had between my blind date and seeing Morgana at work today gave me plenty of time to consider any number of reasons for how she might know Arthur:  
  


  * He could be her ex-boyfriend (at least _she_ ’s hot enough to have dated him)
  * They may have attended uni together and he owed her a favor
  * She could have hired him so they could watch my date crash and burn spectacularly on CCTV and sell it for profit
  * They also might be fellow assassins living a boring life undercover



  
I figured I had every possible scenario covered. Okay, not _every_ one. But Morgana is like an enigma surrounded by secrecy and wrapped up in a black hole. Who knows how she might have sucked Arthur into her life of mystery? So I was completely caught off guard when she opened our conversation today with:  
  
“My brother can’t seem to stop talking about your date.”  
  
It took me far longer than I’d like to admit to put two and two together and realize she was talking about Arthur. Even so, I spluttered about more than is publicly acceptable. Morgana even had the gall to flick away imaginary crumbs on her shirt, since she caught me in the middle of a particularly large bite of my sandwich.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” I moaned uselessly, because honestly, of all people to be related to Morgana, did it have to be Arthur? No wonder he seemed so incredibly out of my league. Hot blokes gravitate to other hot people. Or, in this case, are related to other hot people. It’s a sad fact of my life that I’m not a part of this cycle of beautiful people.  
  
“He’s not even gay, is he?” I asked her finally. It took a moment for me to gather the courage, because I was not looking forward to having what little hope I had left crushed beneath the heel of Morgana’s frightening leather boots. But she didn’t even answer me, instead laughing at my expense when Gwen came over to call me a pyro like she’d taken to doing over the past few days.  
  
I should never have trusted the likes of these. They’re clearly evil incarnate.  
  
Thankfully, that was when Gwaine walked in and saved the day. I didn’t even have the heart to complain about his presence, since getting bashed in the head with a football seemed like a fun alternative to being the butt of another of Morgana and Gwen’s jokes. Gwaine even mentioned that Percival had a surprise for me.  
  
That should have been the first red flag. Life has always sought to be inordinately cruel to me.  
  
The ‘surprise’, it turned out, was actually a pickup game of footie. Apparently Percival thought I was good enough at the drills to need to get some practice in the application of them, and Gwaine was a tosser who now went along with anything Percival said. And, okay, that wouldn’t have been too _terribly_ bad, I suppose, but then who should walk upon the pitch just as I was tying up my trainers?  
  
None other than Arthur _fucking_ Pendragon.  
  
I may or may not have made up some completely lame excuse to Gwaine and dashed off of the pitch, but really, what was I supposed to do? I’ve been avoiding Arthur whenever he’s come into the archives this week (because I could really do without some awkward rejection, thanks) and now suddenly I’m expected to play football against him?! I don’t even know how to play this sodding game, despite what Percival seems to think.  
  
I’m such a coward, hiding in the locker rooms with my mobile to type away my woes to a blog that nobody even _reads_ , rather than growing a pair and facing my problems. My swan-like frame wasn’t made to handle this amount of stress!  
  
I am so royally fucked.  
  
  
  
 **#is this what a mental breakdown feels like?  #i really didn’t need this right now  #but arthur’s arse is still as fine as ever  #apparently my body has different priorities  #i’ll just hide here forever**

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://miss-emrys.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
